As the End Draws Near
by Ithlien
Summary: The healing art of converstation, between Merry and Lothiriel. Minutes before the end of the war


**As The End Draws Near **

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to Tolkien Enterprises, as they rightly should.

**Summary**: Medicine and herbs only go so far. Merry learns the art of healing.

**Author's Note:** This is an angst-ish fiction. The ending feels rather odd. Sorry, I only updated this fic because I saw some spelling mistakes at where driving me insane.

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III

_Hold on to yourself_

_For this is gonna hurt like hell_

_Hold on_

_Hold on to yourself_

_You know that only time will tell_

_What is it in me that refuses to believe_

_This isn't easier than the real thing_

_Sarah Mclachlan – Hold On_

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There was still a gray cast of smoke that lingered in the city, remnants from the fire pits from Pelennor. The city's debris and ruins had been repaired and washed away so quickly that it was almost as if there had never been a battle at all. The city seemed virtually untouched, unscathed by the vile deeds beyond the city walls.

But beyond the Gate of Minas Tirith the ground was black with the burnt jetsam of battle.

No bodies where left on the field, but every time an ill wind breezed or a shadow lingered Merry thought her could see them still.

The Southron warriors that had lain burnt in the field, felled by the skilled archers of Morthond. The ground littered, first with the black and white of Gondorian soldiers, then later with the green and gold of the Rohirrim. A red liquid uniting them.

Merry's right hand was still partially numb, an ailment that bested the Warden and would not be fully healed until the arrival of Aragorn. Though there were times when Merry doubted any return at all.

With darkness loomed overhead, and lingering in every shadow it seemed difficult to return to the optimism he had once believed in so long ago. For some reason he couldn't understand the endless waiting during the aftermath seemed to be more difficult and taxing than the battle. He wished reverently that he had been well enough to join Pippin for the battle rather than remain in constant limbo.

He should have been returning to the Houses of Healing. Young Bergil and he had run supplies to the houses along the Cidital. Handing out food and medicine to those families in need. The warden would be furious over his lengthy disappearance, not privy to Merry's daily disappearances. Eowyn would perhaps, worry over his absence at dinner but would understand the need to escape the Houses. A matter, which she had not yet been able to accomplish. Of all the patients in the Houses of Healing, Eowyn was the unlucky one, which the Warden remained a sharp attentive eye on. Though secretly, Merry wondered if she still had any will to leave the Houses of Healing, she had spent much time with the Lord Faramir and Merry would not begrudge her if any romantic notions were raised.

His feet took control of him and headed to a building he had no wish to enter. But he would not doubt his compulsion as it had often lead in a direction most needed.

The Hall of the Tower was a cold white building that appeared a dingy gray in the dark overcast. It had been days since his last visit there and Merry had no wish to return.

Hall of the Tower, where before the empty chair, Théoden King lay in his resting place. The twelve torches still burned bright, refueled by the twelve guards that stood solemnly around.

The lights flickered, waging their own private war against the darkness of the room. Shadows were cast onto the guard's faces, reminding Merry heavily of the stories of grave keepers that were told in the Shire.

The guards stared straight ahead, looking blankly toward the future. Had it not been for the soft rustle of fabric hidden among the darkened walls he never would have been aware of another's presence.

He came upon the darkened figure, and was greeted with the sight of Lady Lothiriel, kin to Lord Faramir. Lothiriel was a kind woman, the youngest to work in the Houses of Healing. Gandalf had told Merry that she had been his watcher while he had lain in the Houses of Healing. She had heard all his dreams that he spoke while under the Black Shadow and for this he felt both attached and frightened of her.

Lothiriel was weeping softly in the darkness of the hall. Though Merry was loathed to break her solitude, he knew he must. Gandalf had spoke to him briefly before he had left for what hoped to be the last battle.

_You remain behind, not out of shame young Meriadoc, but out of faith. There is many more that still need healing in this city and you will aid in their recovery._

_I know nothing of the ways of medicine Gandalf. I will be useless, caught under feet._

_No. There is more to healing than herbs and bandages. The healing of the heart is a slow and difficult process that cannot be conquered alone._

And so when Gandalf and Pippin parted with him, Merry turned to the healing of the Lady Eowyn, one who would respond to few others.

But now, Eowyn seemed to mend as the days wore on. She still wore she coldness plainly, but her heart seemed thawed. Merry saw that there was little more for him to do in the healing of Eowyn, the rest would be counted on the Lady herself.

He had never expected Lothiriel, always so calm and peaceful, to be torn to pieces in the dark. " My lady?" He whispered, standing beside her. " Why should you tarry here so? Overlooked in this darkened hall?"

"It is not always a misfortune to be overlooked." Lothiriel answered softly, her dark hair and eyes blending in the darkness around her. Her fair face glistened softly in the flickering lights, evidence of the tears she had shed.

Her words rang in Merry's ears, the same of what he had once said to Pippin. When the grief and pain were overtaking his body and he only wished to sleep. " My lady?" He questioned again, hoping he had misheard her.

" The White Lady Eowyn has often spoke highly of her uncle, I wished to see…" Lothiriel paused, unsure of how to continue. She turned to Merry and asked quietly " What sort of man was he?"

" The best of men." Merry answered automatically, for indeed there was no finer man nor king in his mind than King Théoden who had been almost as a father to him.

" What were his dreams, his wants? What did he desire? Who was this man that remains and why was he taken so soon?" Lothiriel interrupted, she spoke faster with every word. Frantic to learn an answer, any answer at all.

" You ask difficult questions, my lady." Merry answered awkwardly, with a soft blush. " Those are better left to be answered by wizards and children." He felt a strange friendship developing with Lothiriel. Almost immediately possessiveness came over him, a feeling much like he developed with Eowyn and Pippin.

Lothiriel turned to Merry and said, " I am sorry. I simply do not understand."

Merry turned to her seriously and craned his neck to look her in the eyes. " Are you speaking solely of King Théoden?"

" Yes… and no." Lothiriel bit her lip in thought, and for a moment Merry worried she might draw blood. " I wish to understand, that is all."

" I wish I understood as well." Merry said, understanding Lothiriel all the more. " What ails you my lady?"

" My father and brothers have left for the battle. Other than Faramir I am the only remains of my family. I fear for them."

" Gandalf would say that it is wise to fear in the face of danger."

" Gandalf is not here." Lothiriel responded sadly.

" Perhaps you should rest from your work at the Houses and healing for yourself."

" My healing will not begin now." Lothiriel spoke knowingly. Her eyes glittered strangely in the dark. " There is much to be done."

" Do you wait for a messenger of your father as Eowyn watches for Eomer?" Merry said quickly, wishing to change the topic. He grinned softly seeing the change work. Lothiriel blushed at the name of Eowyn brother and Merry wondered how deep it ran.

Upon the morning of the Last Debate on Pelennor, Merry had woken early unable to sleep. He and Pippin had wandered down to the kitchen for first breakfast when Pippin had spied the Lady Lothiriel and the new King of Rohan in a compromising situation.

He grinned at the memory of the two and of the looks of both faces when they had been caught.

" Most days." Lothiriel answered shortly, as if to stop his train of thought.

" Do you wish for Eomer to contact you as well?"

Lothiriel bristled and looked away. " I do not know."

" Eomer is also one of the best men I have met." Merry informed quickly, constructing a path in his head. " He cares deeply for many things though he often hides behind his warrior nature."

Lothiriel smiled softly at him. " Do you wish to play matchmaker with me as you do with my cousin?"

Merry grinned, happy at finally seeing the lady smile. " Hobbits do not match make, they merely prompt."

Lothiriel raised her brow in question. " Oh really?"

"And besides." Merry continued, unable to control himself. " King Eomer has already spoken very highly of you. H thinks you most beautiful and intelligent, I doubt there is any need for my skills."

Lothiriel looked at Merry shocked, and cast a worried glance at the guards. Worried at how much might have been heard.

Merry followed her outside where the gray sky was a welcome change from the darkness of the Hall.

Lothiriel turned to speak to Merry, but the wind stilled and the air fell heavy upon the two. The darkness that loomed seemed to be everywhere at once. The light mood between the two collapsed and only a frightened tension remained.

" I fear…" Lothiriel began, but merely fell silent. Her silence spoke much more than words ever could.

Tears fell from Merry's eyes, as he thought of his friends at battle. The end had seemed so abstract, so far away. But now with the heavy silence of Minas Tirith, everything seemed too real.

Lothiriel bent and grasped his hand tightly, and all at one he understood her fear for he now felt it too.

She had not feared the coming deaths of battle, nor the overwhelming sickness that lingered in the Houses of Healing. She did not wait for a letter of either hope or death.

She simply was preparing herself for the end, and this feared her more than death ever could. The stage of numbness where one can only prepare.

Merry gripped her hand tightly and whispered in a voice no louder than a breath of wind. " I understand."

" I'm glad you are with me." Lothiriel spoke just as softly.

Merry nodded, grateful for her comfort. He looked around, wishing for Eowyn and Faramir to join them as well. He hoped that Eowyn wasn't alone.

The darkness grew thicker and stronger, until Merry felt as though it engulfed him. Then suddenly, the darkness broke and a thin ray of light settled upon Minas Tirith.

Things seemed clearer.

_Am I in heaven here or am I in hell_

_At the crossroads I am standing_

_So now you're sleeping peaceful_

_I lie awake and pray_

_That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll_

_See another day and we will praise it_

_And love the light that brings a smile_

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_-Finis-_


End file.
